


In Their Own Time

by jamespadfoot



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Cobra Swan, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamespadfoot/pseuds/jamespadfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Contains spoiler/speculation for what may happen in 4.04. includes: Henry finally being a teenager, Captain Cobra Swan family feels, an overdue confrontation between Rumple and Killian, and a left hand - maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Their Own Time

 

“So when’re we going sailing again?” Henry asks, scarfing down his toast as if Hades himself is after him.

 

The question is asked between bites, making the boy’s cheeks puff, looking more child than teenager. Still, his alarming growth spurt has no doubt made both his mothers nostalgic - he notices how Emma sometimes still looks down at her son, only to readjust her gaze when she remembers they’re almost the same height.

 

“On the weekend, of course,” Killian replies, grinning at the idea of the lad wanting to spend more time with him.

 

“And my permission doesn’t matter at all?” Emma chimes in, eyebrow raised unamusedly, but Killian (and Henry, he suspects) knows that she’s more than onboard with them spending time together.

 

Henry gulps down his toast with orange juice, and then says, “Oh please mom, you just want to be invited along.”

 

“You mean I’m not?”

 

“Afraid it’s a boy’s only outing, Swan.”

 

“Men, men only,” Henry corrects him immediately, and Killian feels a pang in his chest at how fast Henry seems to have grown up. Was it only yesterday they were rescuing him from the clutches of his great-grandfather?

 

“Well, that’s sexist,” Emma says, sounding affronted, making Killian grin as he leans in closer to where she’s seated beside him.

 

 “I’ll make it up to you, Swan,” he says, words a sultry promise only for her, but he catches Henry’s eye roll out of the periphery of his gaze.

 

There’s an immediate, if barely-there flush on his Swan’s cheeks, and Henry completes the moment with a sigh of disgust.

 

(Killian thinks the boy is secretly glad that his mother is smiling ever so much, but in true teenage fashion, is loathe to acknowledge it.)

 

“It’ll have to be morning though,” Henry reminds him, “because I’m working with gramps, uh Mr. Gold gramps, at the pawn shop in the afternoon.”

 

At that new tidbit of information, Killian swirls his gaze, zeroing on the bright-eyed boy in front of him. All at once, he feels a thickness in the air, where it had been light before.

 

“You’re working for Rumplestiltskin?” comes Emma incredulous voice, before Killian can even verbalize his own discontent (not that he has a say in the boy’s life, after all, but the instinct to keep Henry from being anywhere near the crocodile is a default response).

 

“Oh yea…” Henry trails off, looking caught out and guilty.

 

“When did you make this decision?” his mother asks sharply, and in any other instance, Killian would be feeling sorry for the boy, but he agrees completely with Emma’s disapproval.

 

Henry eyes them both shrewdly; it’s an expression Killian hasn’t really seen on him before, and it takes him aback, making him feel like a parent about to be faced with a rebellious teenager.

 

Henry’s answer is not too far off that thought.

 

“I knew you’d freak out,” Henry says, eyes focused on his mother’s, “but he’s my  _grandpa_ , the only link left to my real father,” and Killian has no cause for the sharp twist he feels in his belly at the boy’s words, but he feels it all the same, “and I shouldn’t need to ask you permission to spend time with  _my family_.”

 

He chances a look to Emma beside him, whose eyes have narrowed; her temper rising in the face of her son’s behavior. Killian, for his part, suddenly feels like an intruder, not apart of this family, with no say in any decision; yet he feels wholly responsible for both their well being and happiness, and knows he’ll drive himself to the ground, happily, if they could have it.

 

“Right, I get that kid, but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to  _ask_  for permission before getting a job at your grandfather’s shop of stolen fairytale items!”

 

“I did ask for permission. Mom, my other mom, said yes.”

 

 _Buggering hell,_ Killian thinks, feeling Emma tense up next to him.

 

Knowing Regina, she’d have said yes in parts to spite Emma, knowing The Savior would feel conflicted with allowing her son to spend time with The Dark One, family or not, and thus creating this lovely mess of authority overlap.

 

“Well, sorry to break it to ya kid, but you have a set of parents. Two people. It has to be a unanimous decision.”

 

“I’m starting today,” Henry says, eyes flicking over to Killian’s.

 

Feeling as though  _he’s_ being judged, he maintains the eye contact with Henry’s chocolate brown ones, determined to channel his displeasure by gaze alone. After all, it’s really not his place to  _say_  anything.

 

“I did not say yes,” Emma says, cutting into their staring match by pulling Henry’s attention away from Killian.

 

(He’s not sure if he’s won.)

 

“Are you going to say no?” the boy challenges, picking up his juice and downing it.

 

Emma sighs, “Henry, I’m not going to stop you from spending time with your grandfather. But I appreciate if you  _ask me first_ , before doing things, and that means asking Regina too. It’s not a one-or-the-other deal, it’s two-for-two or nothing, do you understand?”

 

“Yeah, okay, sorry.”

 

Emma lets out another sigh, reaching out to pat her son’s hand from across the table.

 

“Okay then, go on, you’re gonna be late for school.”

 

“Okay, bye mom, love you. See ya, Killian,” the boy says, grabbing his backpack and another piece of toast as he ungracefully rises from the booth.

 

The cheery change of tone feels like whiplash, and Killian wonders if he’ll ever understand the mind of a teenager, especially since it’s been so long since he was one.

 

“Love you too, kid.”

 

“Have a good day, lad,” Killian calls out at the boy’s retreating back, who raises a hand and waves as he exits the diner.

 

The moment he is out of eyesight, Emma lets out a pained groan, dropping her head to the table dramatically.

 

“Lad’s growing up, eh?”

 

“When the hell did that happen?” she grouses, blinking open an eye to stare at him sullenly.

 

“If it’s any consolation, Swan, Baelfire was much,  _much_  worse as a teenager.”

 

At that, she perks up, resting her chin on her hands as she gives him her attention.

 

“I forgot…how long did he stay with you for?”

 

“Time…time works a little differently in Neverland than it does here. The longer you stay, the more skewed it becomes.”

 

“But we were only there for a week, both there and in Storybrooke.”

 

“Aye, but I was there for nigh three centuries. Yet only a hundred years perhaps, had passed in this realm. In any case, long enough to gather his temperaments, whom he takes after his mother.”

 

Even as the words leave his mouth, he remembers the man the boy had become, and adds, “Though in his adult years, it appears he was more his father than mother.”

 

“That’s not a compliment,” Emma says lightly, no admonishment behind her words.

 

“It isn’t,” he replies honestly, because the Charmings may have forgotten (or have chosen to ignore it) but Killian remembers the woman he met on the beanstalk, the scared, hurt,  _lonely_  woman who’d trusted her feelings little because she’d been betrayed so badly before.

 

“And now Henry is going to be spending time with Rumple-freaking-stiltskin. I mean I know he’s his grandfather and all, but…”

 

“You worry,” he says simply, finishing her hanging sentence.

 

She lets out another deep breath, leaning into him on her exhale.

 

“Yes. I mean there’s Elsa to worry about, and just this being Storybrooke and crisis after never ending crisis and yes, I’m going to worry about my son because let’s be honest Killian, he’s got the most screwed up family tree to rival the British monarchy, and that’s saying something.”

 

Killian has no idea who the British are, but let’s his curiosity pass, as it always does when Emma makes obscure references of this world. Instead, he focuses on the meaning behind her words.

 

(He tucks ‘British monarchy’ away to his mental list of yet another thing to research at the library)

 

“I’ll check up on Henry later, and for all that he is, the crocodile knows better than to lay harm on his grandson, especially given that it too, is the only link to his son. Loathe as I am to say this, you need to fear little in regards to Henry being hurt by The Dark One.”

 

He pulls her in to his side, wrapping his hooked arm around her shoulders, and pressing a chaste kiss to the side of her head. Killian doesn’t care who sees, (Granny does, as does Archie), not when his Swan is in need of comforting.

 

“Thank you,” she mumbles quietly, then pushes away from him, standing up and shrugging her jacket on. Killian rises to meet her, feeling clumsy as he shuffles out of the booth.

 

“I have to go, but I’ll meet you here for lunch, okay?”

 

“Actually, about that…” he says, scratching that familiar itch at the back of his ear, “I was hoping to court you a little more formally. Perhaps dinner, at an establishment that isn’t this one?”

 

“Killian Jones, are you asking me out on a date?”

 

“Date, raisin, peach, whatever you want, Swan,” he says, knowing full well the terminology (he’s a well read man, thank you very much) but victorious when Emma lets out an unchecked chuckle.

 

“If you don’t want, I’ll take it,” Ruby says, walking past them as she carries two plates of pancakes.

 

Killian starts to feel the rise of heat to his neck, but the feeling is drowned out by sheer amusement when Emma’s immediate reaction is to whip her attention to the wolf-girl with a ferocious expression that has her hands up in surrender the second she’s deposited the plates.

 

“Ooookay, relax, I was kidding,  _jeez_ ,” the girl mutters, though she is smirking as she retreats back to the kitchens.

 

“Jealousy is a colour that quite suits you, Swan,” he says, feeling wholly confident as he swaggers up to her, closing the space between them so she has to tilt her head to meet his gaze.

 

“Shut up,” she says harshly, pushing him away with a shove, but Killian is undeterred by her embarrassment-manifested-in-the-form-of-violence.

 

“I’ll pick you up at 5,” he says, taking a step forward, then swooping in to place a chaste kiss on her lips.

 

He moves back before she can respond, winking merrily then turning heel, heading out while three of the dwarves eye him with varying degrees of malevolence.

 

He winks at them too.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day passes too fast and too slow, but it’s around midafternoon that  _everything_  changes.

 

He’s only just set things in motion for their date, when Henry barrels into him, frazzled and talking faster than a dolphin.

 

“Lad, lad, slow down. What is it?”

 

“It’s your hand,” Henry says, eyes wide and pallor pale.

 

Killian looks down to his right hand, momentarily confused.

 

“What about it?”

 

“No, not this hand, your  _left_  hand!”

 

“My left… what? What do you mean?”

 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Henry huffs, frustrated, “I found your left hand. More like, gramps had it  _on display_ , in the back of the shop, your hand. It’s there.”

 

For a moment, he simply blinks down at the boy, mind shocked to a halt by a gamut of feelings – shock, gratitude, anger, hatred, the sparking of the dwindling flames of his revenge…

 

“Thank you for telling me, Henry,” he manages to choke out, voice even, even as a tempest of red-hot anger sizzles through his veins at the idea of the bloody crocodile keeping it all this time like a perverse trophy.

 

Henry looks at him seriously, whatever confrontation in the morning forgotten, “I told him I wasn’t going back there until he fixed it for you.”

 

“Fixed it?”

 

“Yeah, gave it back, duh. It’s easy to magic it back, I’ve seen my mom do it.”

 

 _Magic it back, like nothing was ever taken,_ Killian thinks, hollow and numb at the thought, because as useful as his actual hand could be, there is so much of him in the hook he still wears.

 

_What’s a captain, without his ship? Who is Captain Hook without his hook? Who is Killian Jones to Storybrooke?_

 

It’s nothing short of an existential crisis he does not wish Henry to bear witness to, and is thus forced to ignore the onslaught of conflicting emotions as the boy tugs on his jacket, pulling him ahead.

 

They’re in front of the pawn shop far too quickly.

 

Killian feels the bile rise in his throat as he steps into it, seeing Rumplestiltskin standing stiffly before them, with Killian’s left hand held out like some kind of gift.

 

It’s a good thing Henry is there, he thinks, because the desire to rip his sword out of its sheath and plunge it repeatedly into the man’s neck is overwhelming at the sight.

 

Henry grimaces, and Killian moves a step forward, blocking the boy’s view.

 

“I have something to return to you, pirate,” The Dark One says, and Killian has never been more aware of the man’s status as such, even here in this land without magic. There’s nothing reformed about him, nothing salvageable of his soul, and he wonders, not for the first time, what a grievous error Belle French has made in  _marrying_  the beast.

 

Even if the same can be said about his own soul and his pursuing of one Emma Swan, Killian knows he is legitimately, sincerely, trying.

 

“Not that you should have taken it in the first place,” he snipes, taking care to keep most of his hostility at bay.

 

“If you hadn’t taken what was mine…”

 

“A woman is not a man’s property!”

 

“What are you two talking about?”

 

Killian starts guiltily, the same time as the crocodile, and in turning to look at Henry, their gazes meet, briefly, in accordance that regardless of whatever bad blood swims between them, that Henry needs not be exposed to it.

 

The boy however, is too curious by half.

 

“What woman?  _That’s_ why you two hate each other?”

 

“He stole my wife,” Rumple says, but Killian refuses to shoulder the blame, especially given the fact that Milah left on her own free will.

 

“She left on her own resolve, and you murdered her for it.”

 

“You  _murdered_  my grandmother?”

 

The man has the grace to look chagrined, though Killian knows not whether it is sincere. “I was in a dark place, angry and hurt. And it’s not so simple, son, this one was a bully before I had magic.”

 

Henry’s eyes widen, swiveling between the two, and Killian knows he has a choice – to continue to sharpen the truth and rebut the accusations, or to simply push forward and let the boy make his own peace with the personalities of the people in his life, without bringing their considerable past into it. When laid out like that, the only choice is clear.

 

“We have both done some heinous things, Henry, but we’re trying to move past it. We’re both different people now.”

 

Thankfully, the crocodile jumps at the olive branch, thrusting forward his hand, preserved as if only just severed.

 

“Yes, let’s get this done. Move past all that. Come here, pirate.”

 

“His name is Killian,” Henry interjects, watching his grandfather with the same shrewd look Killian had been subjected to only that morning.

 

“Killian,” Rumplestiltskin says, as though chewing on nails.

 

He almost wants to protest – he’d rather be called pirate scum by the man for the rest of his life than to hear his true name be spoken like that, but he simply moves forward, gritting his teeth as he twists off the hook and shucks the brace.

 

“Rumplestiltskin,” he calls in return, watching with satisfaction as the man in question hunches his shoulders together, clearly repressing a flinch.

 

He presents his maimed arm, trying to hard not to think about the many ways the demon imp can sabotage this, or how he must look to Henry, broken and unworthy without an appendage; wonders if this is the reason the boy wants him whole – so that he may be a worthy suitor of one Emma Swan, and gods, what is she going to say when she sees him, with a hand? With both hands?

 

There’s sudden warmth, a glow of light, and suddenly,  _he feels._

“Wow,” Henry says, as Killian flexes his fingers,  _fingers on_   _his left hand,_ in disbelief.

 

“You’re welcome,” Rumplestiltskin says, all snark as he watches Killian.

 

“Thank you,” Killian says stiffly, nodding his head at the man. Not that he should be thanking the man for returning something he should’ve never taken in the first place, but that’s moot point now.

 

“Thank you, gramps,” Henry says earnestly, and the expression on his grandfather’s face softens immeasurably, and it strikes Killian then, how the boy has everyone around him wrapped around his finger, and knows precisely how to use it.

 

“You’re welcome, Henry. Will I be seeing you tomorrow?”

 

“Yes, after school! I’ll be here at 3 sharp, see you then!”

 

“And where are you off to now?”

 

Henry shoots him a mischievous grin, before turning back to his grandfather. “Killian’s got a date with my mom, and there’s just no way I’m letting him out in that outfit.”

 

To his absolute horror, Rumplestiltskin  _giggles,_ looking Killian up and down, and says, “Quite right dearie, best get the pirate some new garb. He’s never been one for fashion.”

 

“This is very fashionable, I’ll have you know,” he protests, for all the good it does as grandfather and grandson share a look of camaraderie, and yes, okay, he thinks, maybe we can all work to co-exist.

 

He’ll figure out how the bloody hell Henry found out about his date with Swan later (he guesses it has something to do with wolf-hearing and loud mouth dwarves), and he’s positive he’s due for a breakdown somewhere in the near future if he should actually contemplate his postponed existential crisis that’s honestly been brewing since he returned to the Enchanted Forest a year ago, but for now, for now, he can try to do this.

 

Of course, in true Storybrooke fashion, that all goes to hell a few hours later as his Swan is involved in a car accident that raises his heart out of his chest. And after, when he sees Rumplestiltskin using the dagger that is supposed to be in Belle’s possession, realizing that they’d all been duped; heated words are exchanged in the front seat of a car when Killian realizes they’re never going to be anything remotely friendly, not when Rumplestiltskin blames Killian not only for Milah, but for the fact that Emma  _had fallen in love with him_ and had thus not even tried to heal Neal with True Love’s Kiss – a theory more absurd than anything he’s heard in his entire life.

 

There’s too much hurt, too much anger.

 

So yes, it all goes too hell.

 

But the only thing Killian can think about, as he heads towards the docks, is that his Swan is now safe, and is waiting for him to officially begin their date, even if a little later than intended.

 

And that’s okay, he thinks, because it means no matter what, they’ll get there, in their own time. 

 

 


End file.
